Jaime
by BHBrowne
Summary: Jane may have lost almost everything. Her parents, her old life, the groups she'd traveled with. Her home. The person she'd loved more than anything. But, years into the apocalypse, she still has one person left in her life. One person she's going to keep safe, and close, no matter what may come their way. [Art by androidsnot.]
1. Cold

A/N: Wow, it's been a while.

I'm so sorry for the delay in uploading anything on my fanfiction page. Between lifestyle changes, huge drama in my life, and a lack of motivation, getting any writing done has been a bit like trying to get blood from a stone. This story's something of an AU, with Jane and her mysterious little companion surviving together close to a decade into the apocalypse. Nothing too drastic, but if this ever gets updated I'll be exploring it more. Which I should be, eventually.

A huge thank you to **Foresee Obstacles** , for being a continued source of inspiration and advice, and for beta reading this chapter. She's a great friend, and an awesome writer, and I can't begin to express how grateful I am for their help in pretty much everything.

And thank you. For reading, for your patience, and for being awesome people. I hope to see you soon!

* * *

 **Cold**

 **I**

The fire burns lower with every passing hour. Every now and then, Jane glances up at the girl sitting opposite her. How the fire paints flickering shadows across her young face, brown eyes shining orange every time the inferno flashes. The forest that wraps around them, all tall trees and falling leaves, is mostly silent, save for the occasional bird taking flight or deer padding through the woods. The young girl glances over every time such a noise is heard, her eyes wide and shining, pausing in her 'art' with a stick in the dirt.

The log she's perching on is damp, wetting the back of her pants. Jane wriggles, a little. The girl wriggles her 'paintbrush', humming a little song. The woman's lip twitches. Not one of the songs she knows. She's heard a fair few from the girl in their travels together, from nonsensical out of tune jingles to music she can vaguely recall knowing herself, once upon a time.

"Sit closer. You'll get cold."

"I'm okay."

Jane raises her eyebrow at the nonchalant voice from the kid, before glancing down at the mud drawing. A house with the letters 'NY HOUSE' underneath it. A cartoonish flower is scribbled next to the walls of the 'house', as well as what looks like a dog. Two figures holding hands. Jane clears her throat.

"It's an 'm'. _Muh,_ for 'mom'. Not an 'n'," she speaks with a soft voice, smiling gently.

"What?" the girl looks like she's been wounded, her eyes widening and her lower lip quivering. Jane swallows, before standing from her log and crossing around the fire, finally sitting next to the girl and holding out a hand wordlessly for the stick. The girl holds it to her chest possessively for a second, until Jane gives a slight beckon from her fingers.

Quickly, she digs the stick into the mud, sloppily correcting the offending letter. The girl watches confusedly, only to mumble out an awkward _'oh'_ as the stick is held back out to her. Jane does her best to smile, focussing back on the fire. She grimaces, before looking at the stick held in the girls' hands. She wrinkles her nose, watching as another flower is doodled next to the first.

"Why're you drawing your house?"

"'Cause I wanna go. Daddy told me it was nice."

Jane inhales, watching the girl carefully. Surely she has to know - she _has_ to know - that the idea of going home is bullshit. She doesn't know what the kid's dad had said to her, but she knows it was probably hopeless idealism. Talk of trips to the seaside, climbing trees in the woods and snowball fights in winter. If she had to guess.

"What'd dad say about houses?"

The little girl doesn't answer straight away, her tongue poking between her teeth as she focuses on squiggling a tail onto the dog she'd drawn earlier. Jane watches the little girl with a slight smile, tapping her foot gently as she waits for an answer. After a minute or so of drawing, the little girl takes a little breath and starts talking.

"He said that they're nice. And that when he lived in his house he used to have his friends over and play guitar and look after a puppy, and in the winter he'd throw snowballs at _his_ mommy and daddy."

She lists all of them off in a single breath, Jane unable to stop herself from grinning a little. As she'd thought, everything the kid knows about the old world is idealism and happy days. Not the undeniable - yet grimmer - truths about it. That homes changed, that it wasn't all puppies and friends, that it was rent and shithole apartments more than warm and cosy fireplaces in big country homes.

Still, hope is a rare thing. Jane doesn't want to be the one to extinguish it.

"Sounds nice, right?"

"Was it _really_ like that?" the girl asks, smiling hopefully up at Jane. Jane raises an eyebrow, tilting her head. Usually, the girl treats her father's words like gospel. What he says _has_ to be true, and whatever Jane says is to be taken with a grain of salt. To hear her questioning her dad is honestly a weird experience, to say the least.

"... yeah," she mumbles after a moment, trying to smile. Arguments with parents and crying little sisters echo in her ears. "When my sister, Jaime -" the girl's ears prick up at the word, and she looks over eagerly, "- was your age, I had to do that kinda stuff a lot."

"Did you and your sister have a doggy, too?"

She makes to correct the child, to tell her to say 'dog' like a big girl, but she finds herself pausing with her mouth open. Remembering begging her dad for a dog, when she was young and not old enough to know what 'rebelling' even was. When her hair'd been long and she was only at her dad's hip height, and she still wasn't quite trusted with her baby sister by herself.

"Nah, my dad didn't like them. I had a kitten, though, before … all this."

" _Really?_ "

She squeals the question so excitedly, the girl's voice an excited gush, that Jane can't help but smile. She nods wordlessly, and the girl whispers out a ' _woah_ ', her gaze shifting to one side and her eyes widening. Jane looks back at the fire, rubbing her hands together slowly as she thinks about before. When her sister was alive. When her parents were alive. Before the world collapsed around her.

"What was it called? What did it look like? Was it cute, I bet it was -"

 _Tibbles, a grey tabby cat, and she was extremely cute._

"I'll tell you some other time." The girl pouts, folding her arms, and Jane sighs through her nose. "C'mon, help with the fire."

When the child hesitates, still fiddling with her rudimentary paintbrush, Jane sighs through her nose and holds her hand out for the stick. The kid continues to just stare with those big brown eyes, the stick still stuck in the dirt. Halfway through drawing a stick figure holding hands with the smallest, middle, figure. Jane glances between it and the child, her throat bobbing in her neck.

Eventually, the kid relents with a tiny sigh, dropping the stick into the flames. Her shoulders slump as she looks down at the drawing, her eyes downcast. In a vain effort to cheer her up, Jane tweaks the kid's tiny denim jacket, straightening it out. The child smiles shyly.

"You'll be warmer, now."

Her eyes dart to the girl's hands as the kid shuffles closer to the fire, rubbing them together. She glances between the hooded coat and the bare hands, before lightly clearing her throat. The big eyes return, wide and full of unasked questions, and then the kid follows her gaze and -

"Oh, uhm…"

She lets the kid stew over her 'mistake' for a five-count in the back of her head, before continuing to talk slowly.

"Where are your gloves?"

The girl shuts her eyes. Jane sighs patiently. The kid has this idea that, if she shuts her eyes, she's briefly invisible. The woman nudges the skinny child's shoulder with a bump from her own, raising her eyebrows.

"I can still see you."

The girl gasps, a betrayed sound, opening her eyes - _she has his_ \- and blinking sadly. Something tells Jane that the silence that follows the girl's blinking is not borne out of stubborness or some young and wide eyed indignation, but rather from a genuine loss for words. So she gives a small sigh and starts talking again, her voice as patient as she can make it.

"Did you lose them?"

She starts to shake her head, her eyes wide. Then pauses. After a long moment of thought, the girl gives a tiny meek nod, ducking her gaze and pouting. Jane sighs.

"When d'you lose them?"

A delicate shrug answers that question, and Jane pulls a face, glancing to one side. Wherever they are, they're probably long gone now. Or filled with dirt and shit, stuff that the kid'd refuse to put her hands near, even after years of this life.

"I'm not gonna be mad, if you lost them a while ago," she tries a different tactic, one she remembers working a long time ago, when Lu … other people tried it with the girl. "If you know, you need to tell me. Maybe we can find them."

"... I think I dropped them at the … the big house."

"Which big house?"

"Um … we went there when it was bright, earlier." She's staring at her shoes, her little brow furrowed in determination. "There was a big tree…"

"Do you mean when we looked for breakfast?" _And found nothing, again, and we had to go hungry._

The kid nods once, and Jane curses quietly under her breath, rubbing at her temples with one hand and resting the other on her knee. _Fucking A_. Finding gloves to fit the kid had been a miracle in and of itself, let alone a pair that were thick enough to actually be useful in times like these. To just _drop_ them, not even have her grow out of them, but to just leave them in some shithole -

 _\- she's just a little kid. She didn't mean to -_

That doesn't make it any less frustrating.

"Okay. That's …" _Fucking hell._ "Okay. Next time you'll know to keep an eye on them." Silver lining. Aren't many of those, these days. Not that there were many before, but… still. Better this, than lose her shit at the poor thing.

"... I'm sorry."

"I know."

Jane glances back at the drawing. At the third stick figure that's not fully drawn in. She pulls a face and looks away, folding her arms on her knees and breathing out a slow sigh. Poor kid. Being born into all this, without a say in the matter, and forced from day zero to fight to stay alive, that's … not what she'd want. Not what anyone'd want, more Jane thinks about it.

Seeing the kid shiver makes her heart sink. She's barely skin and bones, a scrap of a kid clinging on for dear life. Starved of food and of a normal life, yet here she is. Living, breathing. _Living feels too strong a word._ Jane hums to herself, the same tune the kid had been earlier, and she smiles when she feels a light weight against her arm.

She glances over at the child, raising a single eyebrow and smiling her thanks for the company. The kid smiles back, looking back at the fire. Jane touches the girl's shoulder after a moment of enjoying the silence, clearing her throat and piercing the pleasant silence with a gentle command.

"You need to go to sleep."

The little smile flies off her face.

"But -"

"No 'buts'." _Or 'ifs', 'maybes', or 'whys'_. She can't help but wonder, drily, where the kid gets that streak from. That need to always know a little more, to always have the right answer, to want to do the good thing in the face of nothing but bad decisions.

That need to be liked.

 _God dammit._

She doesn't realise her heads in her hands, immediately, or that the kid has cuddled up a little closer to her. Jane breathes in slowly, her eyes shut, trying to forget his smile. Impossible, when it's nearly always on her mind.

"Are you -"

"I'm … _fine_ ," Jane mutters, gritting her teeth as she moves her head from her hands and opens her eyes slowly. _No I'm not._ _No one is._ She looks at the brunette child, her smile weaker. "Just … getting lost in thought." The girl nods sagely, as if she understands, and Jane bites back a chuckle. Not entirely sure what she's laughing at, but … it feels good to know she still can. "You know a lot about that, huh?"

"Sometimes…" the kid mumbles uncertainly, and Jane immediately regrets wanting to laugh. _Of course she knows._ Jane swallows, and it's her turn to nod as if she has all the answers.

"Not a great habit."

"Nuh-uh."

They sit quietly, Jane tending to the flames carefully with the long branch at her feet. In way, she's almost - _almost_ \- thankful for the world around her. Gives her a good distraction, if nothing else, from the disaster that is her thoughts. All regrets and dwelling and thoughts of Lu - _uhm_ \- of loss.

"I miss dad."

Jane laughs through her nose, nodding. Little kid's a telepath, apparently. _Or you're more similar than you think._ She can't meet her eyes, so continues to stare at the fire. Licks her lips and ducks her gaze.

"I miss him, too."

They sit still for a little longer, before Jane catches the kid letting out a sleepy little yawn and rubbing at her eyes. Immediately, Jane feels her smile come back a little, and she tilts her head towards the smaller sleeping bag lying near the fire. The kid's shoulders droop, and she gets up off the log. Pauses and looks at Jane, who meets her eyes with a raised eyebrow. The kid just stares.

"You want me to come sleep, too?"

The child's smile returns and she nods quickly, and Jane decides to humor her, standing up from her perch and dusting her pants off with quick motions. Tiredly, Jane gestures to the kid's sleeping bag, and she inches over to it, her eyes wide. The older of the two rubs at her face, dropping to her haunches as the child crawls into her sleeping bag.

"You look comfy, in there."

"Mmhmm."

Her voice says one thing and her eyes another, though, and Jane pauses as she looks between the backpack the child owns and the child its - _her_ \- self. The kid doesn't seem eager to vocalise what's on her mind, so Jane gives her a gentle nudge with her hand, a small smile on her face.

"Something wrong?"

"It's _cold…_ "

Jane nods, snorting a little. The girl pouts as Jane goes back to rummaging in the child's pack, the woman frowning at some of the stuff inside. _Keep what you need and not what you want._ Clearly the kid doesn't believe in that philosophy, judging by the scrap bits of paper with faded crayon drawings scribbled on them. She can't bring herself to look at them, so instead keeps looking for -

"Here," she hands the child her water bottle, and the kid immediately looks to see how much is inside. "That needs to last you 'til at least tomorrow." The girl nods, frowning at the half empty container for a moment, before holding it against her chest and watching as Jane quietly zips the bag up. "Got that?" Another tiny nod, and Jane finds herself nodding too.

After quickly checking the kid's temperature again with the back of her hand, she smiles her 'good night' to the little girl and drops into her own bag next to the kid, yawning and wrapping herself up as best she can. Kid's got a point. It's _fucking freezing._ Still, fire helps. A little. _Until it burns out in five minutes._ Better than nothing, though.

"Get me if you need something."

"I will…"

Jane pauses. Quietly hopes the kid'll ask her for something - anything - to keep her distracted from the thoughts bumping about in her head, just like whatever's bumping around in the woods. But the kid seems content to try and get some rest, and Jane sighs quietly. _Hello nightmares, my old friend._

"Okay, well …"

She watches the child curl around herself, holding herself tight and shivering the tiniest amount. She almost gets up to try help warm her up. Then she hesitates. Surely, if … if the kid wants help, she'll ask. That's the way these things work. Right? After another couple long seconds, Jane relents, trying her best to relax - _pff, what the hell is relaxing -_ staring up at the stars. A tiny sigh spills from her lips, and she wordlessly traces out three words with her lips.

 _I miss you._

She shakes herself. She can't dwell. The kid needs her to be the same tough bitch she always pretends to be. To keep her safe and make the hard decisions that the kid isn't prepared to make, yet. If that means putting everything else on the backburner then … so be it. _Kid'll outlive me, anyway._ She rubs at her face, again, grunting a little and rolling over. _Fucking itchy piece of_ -

"Mom?"

That lasted long. Jane smiles despite herself, looking over at the girl. The title 'mom' is a weird one. She didn't think she wanted it, when she was younger. Now, though? She'd be lying if she said she wasn't at least somewhat proud of herself for 'earning' it. _It took two to tango, though._ She sighs, a little. The kid's dad should be here. He'd be a better parent than her.

"Yea, kiddo?"

"Can I … uhm… can I sleep in your sleeping bag? W - with you?"

She shuffles over, and she feels her lip twitch into a warm smile as her daughter scurries to her feet and hastily nuzzles up to her in the too small sleeping bag, wrapping an arm around the kid as she shuts her eyes. Jaime's hair tickles Jane's chin, the girl's tiny hands clutching together as she shivers. Tiredly, Jane takes the girl's hands in her own, smiling warmly as she lets out a tired yawn.

"Told you you'd get cold."

The girl inhales, and Jane can practically hear the gears in her young brain turning as she tries to think of a suitable comeback. Jane opens her eyes, smiling wryly. She presses her lips against the top of Jaime's head, listening to the kid as she lets out a little sigh.

"... sorry," the girl faintly whispers, nuzzling under Jane's chin. The woman winces at the 's' word, instinctively giving her daughter a quick squeeze by way of silent apology. She clears her throat, speaking in a gentle tone for the dark haired girl curled up against her.

"'S'okay. Just stay close, I don't want you getting any colder."

"Mmhmm…"

"Get some sleep."

"Tomorrow, before we go find water …" Jane ' _hmm_ 's to show she's listening, and Jaime presses on. "... you'll help me finish my drawing, right?"

 _If it's still there._

"... Sure."

"And, and, can you tell me about your c -"

"Shh…" Jane whispers, feeling her heart twitch when Jaime shivers in the cold. She squeezes the girl's hands, both her tiny hands fitting in one of her own. "Get some rest."


	2. Maybe

A/N: I'm so excited to be sharing this next chapter. It's something I've been working on for ages, and has gone through so many scrapped ideas, but I'm finally ready to share it. The dialogue alone is the culmination of close to a years notes in my notepad, loose lines that I've finally managed to put together with a lot of humming and hawing on my laptop.

An absolutely massive thank you is in order to **androidsnot** on Tumblr. My first ever piece of fan art was drawn by them, and it's so humbling to have such a wonderful piece of art attached to my work. Since I first started writing, it's been my dream to have someone draw a scene from my writing, and I am so happy that dream has finally come true. They also very generously drew the cover art, and it is absolutely beautiful. I can't put into words how happy it makes me. I am so grateful to you, you're absolutely amazing and I am delighted that you like my work! Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Really.

Another huge thank you to **ForeseeObstacles** for giving me endless advice and guidance in both writing and life, and for being all around an absolutely amazing friend. They're an absolute delight to talk to, and their writing is some of the most heartfelt and genuine pieces of work I have ever read. That, and they're genuinely one of the funniest and wittiest people I've ever met. I can't count the amount of times I've been left laughing from the things she's said. Thank you Foresee!

And thanks to you, the reader, for reading my work and leaving your thoughts. It's the thing that keeps me writing, knowing people enjoy what I have to share. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

* * *

 **Maybe**

 **II**

Jane sighs through her nose, twisting the fishing rod between her fingers. The sound of the river before her is relatively undisturbed, a consistent and relaxing trickle that wraps far beyond her sight in either direction. Yet, despite how large the river appears to be, there isn't a single fish in sight.

Certainly, though, it's a nicer area than where they'd been camped before. Less rainy, for one. From the weather, it seems like the break of spring. It's impossible to tell, though. Jaime's dad used to keep track of the days, in a very loose and vague way, once upon a time. All rough tally marks and a forgotten leap day. But ever since he'd passed …

Well, she's never liked math.

Jaime's sitting against her mom's legs, humming a tiny little song for both their sakes. Now and then, Jane gives her daughter's head a little scratch with one spare hand, asking a soft _'you okay?'_ every other time. She's not sure why. It's just one of those things she catches herself doing, around the kid.

Maybe to remind her that she needs to have a haircut, soon.

Maybe to make sure she's still awake.

Maybe to remind her that she's not alone.

Maybe she's trying to make her daughter smile.

Maybe.

"Have you caught any fishy?"

It's the first time either has spoken in a long while. Certainly, it's a welcome distraction from the mindless monotony that is fishing, but truth be told the conversation isn't much of a saving grace. Especially considering it's about ... 'fishy'.

"Not yet. Be patient."

The girl hums, going back to her own business. More mud drawings. Jane wrinkles her nose as she looks at this one. Figures and a blob that she assumes is meant to be a dog. Clearly, she isn't raising another Rembrandt, Da Vinci, or Picasso. Not that she even _wants_ an artist. She'd heard enough about 'art history', and all it entails, a long time ago.

What a stupid thing to major in.

She shakes her head, twisting the rod again and swallowing. Her stomach rumbles, and she tries to distract herself. Another scratch of the little girl's hair. _Scrtch._ Jaime gives a little smile and looks up at her. Jane tries to ignore the fact that she can see _his_ eyes staring back at her.

"Will we get fishy soon?"

Maybe.

"I hope so."

Jaime wrinkles her nose, looking back down at the mud drawing. Jane watches as the blob gets four sticks for legs and a silly smile. Floppy ears. Jane looks over her shoulder, listening carefully for movement. No snapping of branches underfoot. No gurgling of blood. No whispers between bandits. No barking of hunting dogs.

Maybe she can relax. Just try and talk to her daughter and catch some fish. Or … try to, anyway.

"Dad was good at catching fishy."

Jane blinks at the comment made by her daughter, and promptly decides he was anything but 'good at catching fishy'. It'd been all bluster and trying to make it 'fun', the few times they'd gone fishing as a 'family'. As if sitting by a river and twiddling your thumbs could be anything other than what it is - a task that needs completing. That was dad, though. Smiles and poking tongues and silly voices for the worms they used as bait. _'Please don't eat me, mister fish!'_ Jaime giggling like it was the funniest thing on the planet.

Masking her own smile, at the sight of her daughter being so happy.

Jane bites her tongue rather than voice all this, though, shrugging as she contemplates her next words. Somehow, she imagines the conversation that'd follow from her saying ' _your dad was a completely useless fisherman'_ would not go down well with the small child. Instead, she swallows, tries to shake him from her mind, and raises her voice just above a mumble.

"Dad was good at a lot of things, Jaime."

"Lots," her daughter agrees in a small voice, nodding.

They lull into silence for the thousandth time this afternoon, Jaime giving her mom a long look before going back to her drawing. Jane opens her mouth to ask what's on her mind, but hesitates. The thought of a long 'deep and meaningful' about her dad makes her stomach feel like it's being grabbed by iron hands. After a moment's thought, she settles for another scratch of Jaime's hair, and to clench the rod a little tighter.

 _Scratch._

Jaime gives a tiny giggle, this time, and Jane finds herself giving her daughter's mess of hair a little more of a fuss. The girl wriggles, her head plopping against Jane's knee. Her eyes slip shut, for a moment, and Jane feels her heart twitch at the tiny yawn the girl gives.

"You didn't sleep well either, then."

"Nuh-uh."

Jane hesitates, looking back at the river to buy herself time to think over her next words. For some reason, she thinks of eggshells. Trying not to squish them beneath her heavy boots, while Jaime dances between them in her little sneakers, all smiles and girlish giggles. How, try though she might, she's never being deft enough to not crush a few on the way to her daughter, even as she dodges a few now and then.

"... Do you want to talk about it?"

Jaime's features fall suddenly, and she bites her lip. Jane feels her heart sink into her stomach as a look flashes across the kid's face. One that isn't a shy smile as she doodles or asks questions about people who've come and gone. Nor is it the innocent and peaceful look on her face, when she's not having a nightmare.

It's a look Jane had decided, way back when she first saw it, that she doesn't like. One she likes even less when it's just the two of them. And one she likes even less when the only noise to come from the kid is -

"Mm-mm."

 _Squish._

A little shake of her head, her hair bouncing. Jane notices the hurried way Jaime goes back to drawing with the stick in the mud. The hasty movements. The way she doesn't look at Jane as she does it. Jane bows her head, and shuts her eyes. Tries to remember the book she once read, the book still buried in the bottom of her backpack. The first time she'd read it, when she'd first 'met' her little girl on a cold and rainy night. Dad cooing silly nothings down at the girl, while she lay restless in bed. Reading the same words over and over.

"You know you can. Talk to me, I mean."

Maybe. _Maybe._

Jaime doesn't reply, the sound of the stick against the mud getting more fervent. Jane swallows, not prepared to force an answer out of the kid. Not over something as … as _tender_ as this. The lack of humming filling the air feels wrong, somehow, so Jane decides - after a long moment of hesitating - to hum a similar tune to the one Jaime had been.

Before she … made it weird.

She watches as Jaime's ears prick up a little at the sound of the gentle humming, but there's a distinct lack of noise from the little girl. Besides the frantic scratching of the stick against mud, anyway. Still, Jane persists, the same song Jaime always does. Probably one her dad taught her, ages ago.

The longer Jane hums, the less feverish the scratching gets. After a couple minutes, Jane feels her shoulders relax as Jaime lays her 'paintbrush' down and gives another tiny yawn. Her fingers trail through the kid's hair, again, and her daughter flops her head against her mother's leg. Jane sighs through her nose, finally ceasing her efforts of humming and feeling her shoulders slump at the silence from the girl.

Silence feels wrong, now.

It's not as comfortable as it used to feel, when this all started. When it meant a break from her sister's crying, or the sound of walkers. She keeps trying to open her mouth, to try and say something to rectify her earlier mistake, but as soon as something gets to the tip of her tongue it sounds wrong, and she closes her mouth again.

Maybe you should tell her she can talk to you.

Maybe you should say sorry you made things weird.

Maybe you should say you're sorry you couldn't save dad.

Maybe you should say how much you lo -

"How big will the fishy be?"

Jane flinches at the soft voice, looking down at the kid and wrinkling her nose. She wonders if the kid thinks she has magical powers. That let her know how big a fish'll be before either has even seen one. _If only._

"Not sure. Hopefully pretty big."

" _This_ big?" Jaime asks, spreading her arms as wide as she can. Jane watches the action with a fond eye, snorting a single laugh out of her nose. The little girl lets her arms flop back to her sides, still staring up at her mother, and Jane finally answers.

"That might be a bit big, kiddo."

"Will it be Rainbow Fish?"

The other book in her bag. Jane sighs through her nose, trying not to think about the time they'd spent at the hardware store, and the short time after on the road. Before the end. The sing song voices for different characters, the way her daughter'd be out like a light as soon as the story was told, rather than protesting and trying to avoid sleeping.

How he was a better parent than she'll ever be.

"... Maybe," Jane lies gently, humming. "But you wouldn't want to eat him, would you?" The look on Jaime's face tells her everything, and Jane gives a small grin in response. "We'll find something. Don't know when, but it'll be … soon. _Hopefully_." She adds the last word under her breath, and takes some form of relief in the fact that Jaime didn't seem to notice the decidedly pessimistic aside.

"My tummy hurts."

"Mine, too."

Jane gives the rod a little shake, hoping the action will make the bait look more appetising to whatever scaly shits are swimming mere feet away. But it's very quickly made clear to her that bouncing bait is no less appealing than perfectly still bait to the seemingly non-existent fish that live here. Jaime's head droops back onto Jane's knee, another little yawn accompanying the movement.

Jane smiles slightly, ducking her head and looking down at her little girl. Her shoulders relax when she sees the way Jaime's nuzzling up to her. She can't remember the last person, before her and … and _him_ … that she'd let in this much. How oddly nice it feels, between the worry and the 'making it weird'. The little fleeting moments of niceness, anyway.

The smile fades, like it always does, when she notices just how … _fucking similar_ the girl and her dad are. The eyes, the mess of hair that's always got tangles in it. Hell, she's half surprised that she doesn't hear the kid going on about the minor in agriculture she's somehow already gotten, to keep her old man happy. Hopefully there'll be something like that for her kid, one day. Pointless stuff to major in, working in a coffee shop, blowing all her money on a business venture that's obviously doomed from the start.

 _Maybe._

"Mom?"

Still weird hearing that word.

"Mmm?"

"… I had a bad dream. That's why I didn't sleep good."

Jane opens her mouth confusedly, only to pause and whisper a gentle ' _oh_.' _She's talking to you. About …_ _ **it**_ _._ She takes a slow breath through her nose, shuffling an inch closer to the girl. Jaime keeps her knees in the mud, but the stick is just buried in the mud. No movement. Just … stuck there.

"Okay." Jane hesitates. "What about?" She uses a kinder tone than she once would have, her voice still quiet. She can't figure out if she's being quiet to keep walkers away, or for her daughter's sake.

Maybe both.

Jaime inhales sharply, wobbling the stick with the heel of her palm. Jane doesn't make any effort to bridge the silence, instead pretending to be fascinated by the fishing rod in her hands. The words from that book keep popping into her head. _'Being a mom is a full time job … Show them how much you care and remind them often … Give your child time to speak what's on their mind … Let them know you'll listen_ _…_ _Be present.'_ What does that even _mean?_ She's always present, in the literal sense of the word anyway.

Ick.

Still, maybe it's not so bad. Maybe it's about spiders. Maybe it's about the dark. Maybe it's about the mean looking coyote they saw a couple days ago. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Maybe not, though.

"I … It was scary."

"I can imagine," Jane sympathises. "I have them too, sometimes. Not the same ones, but … It's okay to talk about them, to me. I don't mind."

"You always say that I shouldn't be scared."

"I tell you it doesn't _matter_ if you're scared, it's how you handle it that matters." When Jaime doesn't talk, Jane swallows and does her best to fill the silence, her tone and voice uncertain. "It's just … you have to learn to manage it. Being scared can be good, kinda."

"I don't get it…" Jaime replies despondently, looking away guiltily. Jane's heart twitches, and she gives her daughter's shoulder a quick pat. She sighs, and looks out at the river for a moment. Gives a short nod as she considers how to broach this particular subject, before delicately laying the fishing rod at her feet and resting her hands under her chin, her elbows balancing on her knees.

"It means … It means that you can be as scared as you want to be. As long as you can still … 'function' …" she makes air quotes around that last word, sparing a quick glance Jaime's way. Jaime stares intently, unblinkingly, her eyes full of unanswered questions. "Then it doesn't matter so much."

"But … I don't like being scared."

"Nobody does. At least, I don't think. But … you don't need to be scared, okay? As long as I'm here."

"As long as you're here."

"That's right."

Jaime gives a little nod of her own, looking back down at her drawing. Jane looks away, again, the fishing rod abandoned at her feet. She drums her fingers against her cheeks, humming under her breath and shaking her head slightly. That'd been much easier than she thought it'd be. _The day's still young, and so is …_

"What do you mean when being scared can be good?"

There it is.

"It …" Jane gives another sigh, thinking quickly. Jaime isn't looking her way, going back to drawing idly with her paintbrush. "It means you care about something. Which, to be fair -" Jane's voice gets quicker and her eyes widen, looking at the girl quickly. "- isn't always the smartest thing to do. Caring, I mean."

"What does that -"

"... no, never mind." Jaime makes a confused face and an equally confused little noise, and Jane feels a smile twitch at the corner of her lip before she continues. "It's sometimes good to be scared, because … being scared means you care about something. And that's … a reason to keep fighting. I guess." Jane carefully uses the toes of her boot to add her own squiggle to the end of her daughter's drawing. "Does that make any sense?"

"Kinda … But how do I make the bad dreams stop?"

 _I wish I knew._ Dreams of guns and walkers and tall buildings and sobbing sisters and bleeding farm boys and little girls getting torn limb from bloodied limb prowl her mind's eye, every waking and sleeping moment. She takes a deep breath, weighing her options carefully. Brutal honesty doesn't seem like the fairest thing to burden the child with. But …

Fuck it.

"You … can try talking about what they are. That helps some people."

Jaime hesitates again, doodling shapeless lines next to Jane's addition to the art. Jane finds herself biting her lip, watching the child stew over their next words. Again, she has to remind herself to be patient. Needling never works. It's all soft touches and warm smiles to get her to talk. Concepts that elude her, even at the best of time.

Which leaves her with the other tactic. Patience. Waiting. Two things she has to be good at, given the way the world is. Waiting for food. Being patient, whether with a bow, a fishing rod, or with a little girl. Having to have faith that things will maybe come good, with the right mindset and a level head. Though, even that feels like a stretch.

"Just … daddy. And how he _…"_ Jaime sniffles, looking away. Jane's throat feels dry, and she has to refrain from pressing. That night is something she knows will never leave them. How could it? One bad thing after another, back to back, with no respite for either of them. Every moment imprinted in her brain for the rest of time, and possibly even longer. Blood mixing with water, screaming, gurgles and gunshots and -

 _Say something!_

" _…_ Oh."

 _Nice one._

Jaime wrings her hands together, her chin tucked to her chest, and with a look in her eyes that Jane doesn't like. One that suggests guilt, or something to that effect. Jane can't help but wonder if … _no_. She has to know, right? The kid has to know it's not …

Not her fault.

"I … I can see why you're not sleeping good, then." Jaime doesn't reply verbally, instead giving another little sniffle. Jane ducks her head. "I wish I could tell you it all goes away, but …" Jane gives a shaky breath. "It doesn't. It never does."

"How do you know?" Jaime mumbles nervously, looking up at Jane. "Have you been alive forever?"

"W - Well, no. But … I've had bad dreams for a while. It gets easier, but … never goes away."

"That's sad…"

Jane gives a bitter nod, tightening her jaw. Her eyes feel watery, and she irritably swipes at them. Masks her face with one hand to not let the kid see. Being strong in front of her is half the battle - if not the whole battle. Too damn impressionable. And the last thing she wants is both of them turning on the waterworks, when they need to be focussed on fishing.

"... but I can stay up and keep the bad dreams away." Jaime pipes up in a small voice. "Right? I can scare them off so you can sleep better, and we can take it in turns. That's what daddy did." Jane raises an eyebrow slightly, but doesn't talk. _Stop thinking about him._ "He'd stay up and scare the bad dreams away, when I couldn't sleep."

Jane lets out a wet chuckle and shakes her head, still not moving her hand from her face. If things were that easy, life would be … well. Less interesting, she supposes. God only knows she can do with a less interesting life, from time to time. Doing a boring nine-five job, going home to see her kid and help her with homework.

Rather than helping her learn to skin rabbits and struggle to keep her fed.

"You need your sleep more than me."

"But we're a team."

A smile inches onto her face, and she slowly moves her hand away. She looks down at the girl and gives her hair another ruffle, a feeling in her heart and stomach that's much warmer than the one that'd been there mere moments ago. When she'd been thinking of … _Don't._ She shakes herself, a little, and tangles her fingers in the kid's hair.

"The best," Jane's voice is scarcely louder than a whisper, but - judging from the proud smile on Jaime's face - it's heard loud and clear. She licks her lips and opens her mouth to tell her something that she feels'll help with the nightmares, something that deep down, not even that deep, the girl needs to hear, when -

A splash in the river makes her sit up quickly, grabbing the rod with both hands and lurching to her feet. Jaime gives an excited gasp, her earlier sniffles seemingly forgotten, and she eagerly shuffles to the river's edge, eagerly waving to the fish and squeaking out an excited ' _hello mister fish!'_. And Jane feels her smile widen, even as the fish fights for its life on the end of the rod.

Maybe this is their luck finally - _finally_ \- starting to change.

Maybe things aren't so bad.

Maybe she and her daughter will get through this.

Maybe she doesn't need to be so afraid.

Maybe.


End file.
